Pastelitos
by myLITTLEnekoSHIRO
Summary: Bite-sized (depending on the size of your mouth) pieces of deliciousness for your enjoyment


**10/23/2017: High time I published something not related to parodies! I've been trying to get back into the groove of writing more serious pieces. Here is a collection that I have dubbed Pastelitos (Spanish for pastries) because they are short, sweet and flaky (wait, what? No, they're no-!)**

 **Each one is inspired by a song and I'm trying my best to base them for where they were written (You'll understand from the first one). I want to write for different couples so if you have suggestions write it in a review! Please and thank you!**

 **Now *throws confetti* Enjoy!**

 **Havana by Camila Cabello**

 ** _Havana, Cuba_**

Ichigo stopped and glanced up at the sky. His shades were a welcome relief from being blinded by the warm Cuban sun.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet smell of baking pastries and fresh coffee. His ears were assaulted by the colorful babble of the bazaar. He could feel people pushing past them, eager to return home, to read that paper, to get that juicy guava they'd passed but had hesitated to get before.

Over here, you didn't hesitate. You let your senses jostle you around. You let them scream at you, demand your time, your energy, your first loves. It's Havana. Go fucking crazy.

His senses jolted him. There was something different right now. It wasn't there before. It felt old but new. It was beautiful but risky. Ichigo would want it. And _it_ wanted _Ichigo_.

Someone brushed his shoulder. He shivered. That was the signal. He looked to his neighbor. And forgot to breathe.

The blue eyes smirked. The owner casually looked away and pushed past the crowd, as if the encounter had been extraordinarily ordinary. Half of Ichigo almost believed that. Then those eyes looked back.

 _It's Havana._ They seemed to scoff. _Go fucking crazy._

His blood rushed to all the important places and Ichigo finally remembered he was human. Did he ever believe he was one to begin with?

Those eyes were gone now. He clenched his fists and teeth. How can those eyes exist outside his presence? The thought of that made him see red. And the most exquisite blue.

He followed that crown of blue through the crowd, like a shark in a brown sea (who was the shark, though?). He moved like a glacier, effortlessly and gleaming. The thought of a glacier, and him, made the sweat on Ichigo's upper lip a lot more bearable. By the time he reached the stone steps, all he caught was the tail of a white shirt winking around the corner. He finally looked up and laughed.

Of course. This led to the sea. Where else could it possibly lead?

'Señor! Señor!'

Ichigo glanced up the stairs behind. Clambering down the eroding yellow stairs was a spritely boy, browned and pinked from playing too much in the sun. His shock of red hair bounced behind him, like his head was on fire.

'Respirar,' Ichigo coaxed. The boy listened to the extent of that advice. The boy inhaled once, and then shoved whatever was squished in his palm at Ichigo.

'Para suerte,' he said, rather matter-of-factly. It was a guava. He pivoted on his heel and took off again. Ichigo looked bemused. Youth was so charming.

Ichigo knew he wouldn't have to play hide-n-seek. The sun captured his lithe frame so perfectly it looked like he belonged there. It hid nothing and yet it hid all. Ichigo almost groaned in frustration.

He walked up to the blue eyes's owner, taking pleasure in sinking his feet in the existing footprints. He looked to the man. He refused to show his eyes. Ichigo wanted to cry like an ill-tempered child. So he looked at the sea. At least the horizon was eager to share its colors.

The sky kissed the sea like a lover. Her waves jumped up in delight at the touch, eager for more contact. But the sky kept its cool, giving enough to tease. Clouds laughed as they scampered by, barely touching the playful waves. It was such a fascinating foreplay.

'Beautiful,' Ichigo breathed. But, of course, he meant the real sky.

The sky snorted. 'Cliché,' he said nonchalantly.

'That, it is.'

A pause. 'Cliché is not bad.'

'I never said.'

'You don't say much.'

'Then tell me what to say.'

'Don't say beautiful.'

'Then what?'

A wave surprised their feet. The cold stung before soothing. 'Say, I want to play in the sea.'

 _I want to play with you._ 'I want to play in the sea.'

The man squatted to the ground, watched as the wave returned to the sea happily. 'What time is it?'

'Tiempo de juego.'

His laugh was delicious. Then, without warning, the man slipped his shirt off. All thoughts of seeing that shirt wet and clinging disappeared with it. Ichigo wanted to lick that stomach.

'Let's play.'

And he was gone, already woven into the spell of the sea. Would he ever return? Would Ichigo _want_ to return?

He fingered the Browning in his pocket. The job will have to wait. Right now, he wanted to know what that butt looked like under those shorts.


End file.
